Right Down the Line
by Ikkleosu
Summary: Over 10 years on, Daryl reminisces about the way his relationship with Carol unfolded like a flower.
1. Chapter 1

**Right Down the Line (part 1/?)**

A Caryl Walking Dead fanfiction by Ikkleosu

Rating: MA (mostly for language, some small hints of sex but nothing too explicit)

Summary: Over 10 years on, Daryl reminisces about how his relationship with Carol unfolded like a flower.

_"You've been as constant as a Northern Star_

_The brightest light that shines_

_It's been you, woman, right down the line" _

_– Right Down the Line by Gerry Rafferty_

I can't believe she's mine.

The thought occurred to Daryl daily and had done for years now. He never got used to it; never relaxed into it; never believed it had truly happened. And yet, there she was, a stone's throw away from him looking at her feet as she dangled them lazily in the water.

The sun dappled on the pond and reflected in her face, all freckles and blue eyes and smiles. For him; always for him.

She turned her head and flashed one at him briefly, before turning her eyes back to the murky water. She'd sensed him watching her. She always sensed it. Just like she knew he needed almost constant reassurance. He didn't ask for it, but she dished it out like 4 square meals a day. Every morning her first words were "I love you", as if somehow he'd have forgotten overnight. And in a way, he had. It always seemed like dream, to wake up and find her there beside him day after day was a shock to his system. And every night, the last thing she'd do was kiss him. And the memory would carry him sweetly into dreams.

His dreams were better now. Nightmares didn't come like unwanted guests every night to occupy his bed and steal his sleep. And it was the same for her too. She didn't always tell him, but he always knew. He'd watch her sleep; hear the whimpers; see her body tense and flail and he knew she was remembering the horrors too. Maybe imagining new ones. So he'd hold her extra tightly, and hope the dream version of her would feel it and know he was there, and he'd always be there.

It had taken all of them a long time to relax; to trust; when it seemed that the living were starting to win the race. It had started with a cold winter and a wet spring, that seemed to thin the numbers of walking corpses out just a little. And then it just kept happening. Less and less and less of them showed up at the fences or wandered the streets, until they'd reached the point they were at now.

It had been 2 years since any of them had seen one. Older kids teased their younger siblings with ribald stories of their walker adventures, and the younger ones gasped in awe. To them, they were almost mythical like unicorns, or werewolves, or metal tubes that flew in the sky.

It had taken him a long time to stop carrying his bow everywhere. Even now it was on his bike. But even he had begun to feel it was real - with her help - and so here they were sitting unguarded in the open. He said he needed to go fishing, stock up some. She immediately said she wanted to keep him company. He hadn't argued, relishing the time to spend just being with her.

He watched her lost in her thoughts and he relaxed. He focussed his eyes on the end of his fishing pole, bobbing gently in the still water; insects buzzing and hovering all around them. He let the memories wash over him. There were things he'd forgotten, things he wanted to forget, but that day stayed bright and fixed in his memory. The day Carol told him she loved him.

Things had changed a lot since all the folks from Woodbury joined them. They'd become a community instead of a family. And there were times Daryl hated it.

He hated the bureaucracy, the sudden need to consider over 100 people's needs and feelings, and he hated some of them. There was only a handful he remembered from that night in the arena with Merle. Most had died at the hands of the Governor, but some... Oh some remained like living memories, startling him as he'd come round a corner and see their smiling face.

He tried to withdraw some, but none of them would let him, least of all her. She cagouled and pleaded, appeased and bargained and kept him in their fold.

But there were times it all got too much and he felt claustrophobic and stifled. He didn't mind people expecting things of him. He knew his role and it gave him a kind of pride. He just didn't like having to pass every crook of his pinky past a committee and wait for the disparate group to agree on a plan of action. And he'd take it out on all of them, but especially those he'd known longest. On that day, he'd had a stupid row with Glenn and a ticking off from Hershell, when he stomped back to his cell to get his bag and just get out. He wasn't going to leave - not for good - he just wanted to be outside, out there, not here.

But his bag wasn't there. None of his stuff was. It was just gone. He wondered for a minute if he'd come to the right cell in his rage, but no that was his blue heavy blanket tied back as a make shift door.

He cursed and stomped back down the stairs looking for someone to blame. He almost stalked past her cell without noticing, but something caught his eye. It was the neon glint of an arrow flight sticking up from the top bunk. He stormed over to the cell and there it was. All his stuff neatly piled up - his arrows, his clothes, his spare boots at the foot of the bed. What the hell? It was bad enough they were here, now they were touching his stuff and moving him around without his say so?

He went to find Carol, not to blame her, that didn't even occur to him. She was just the person he instinctively went to. She was his sounding board. Over the months he'd realised she occupied that position for a lot of people, he didn't think for her he was any different from all her other projects. She was the peacemaker, the reasoner, the go-between. He just thought that was all it was.

He found her alone doing some chore or other in one of the little side rooms.

"Did you know about this? Why the fuck has my cell been emptied? Who has put my stuff into your cell? I never gave my say so, I ain't going to be treated like this! Who the fuck did this?"

He let the tirade out before he'd even fully entered the room. She whipped round to face him at the sound of his voice and extended a calming hand out towards him. That was, until she understood what he saying, then she dropped it and turned back to her chore; folding laundry with calm precision.

"I did," she said evenly.

"What? You did what?" He didn't really grasp what she was taking blame for. She'd given the say so for them to move him around like an ugly ornament from a relative that you felt obligated to keep, but didn't want to look at.

"I moved your things into my cell."

"Why?" was all he could muster, injustice still running rampant through his veins.

"Hershell told me about earlier. I didn't want you running off doing something stupid. So I put your stuff in my cell."

This really wasn't making sense to him, how would moving his stuff stop him leaving? He'd quickly find it and be on his way.

"Why?" He tried again, angrier this time, more frustrated.

She turned back round to him, fire blazing in her eyes.

"Because I love you. And I want you to stop being a selfish idiot and taking off whenever you've had enough. It's not just about you. I told you a long time ago I couldn't lose you. I thought it was about time I was a bit more proactive about it,"

She hadn't shouted, but she was firm, adamant. And it knocked the wind out of his sails. He couldn't get past the first statement. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in his mind over and over.

He didn't know what to say. After a few moments watching him mentally battle over the revelation, her face had softened again and she began to tangle with a smirk. She was clearly enjoying the nifty piece of rug pulling she'd just done.

Eventually he thought of a sensible, coherent thing to say.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

Her smirk fully escaped on to her face at his question and she turned away from him again.

"In my cell. With you."

Even the memory of it made him feel flustered. At the time he'd wandered off, ended up sitting in the yard, running his hand through his hair, wishing he had a cigarette. He tried to figure out what exactly had happened but gave up.

He said nothing to anyone else, and no one ever mentioned it to him. It was Rick that told him later that everyone had just assumed Daryl and Carol were a couple from that point - hell, some had been assuming it from day one - and no one felt a need to question it.

The funny thing was, they hadn't become a couple that day. Not in the traditional sense. There had been a seismic shift in their dynamic, yes, but it wasn't a full blown earthquake. That wasn't who they were. He was still who he had always been. He still had his father's and Merle's words ringing in his head. No-one will love you. You're worthless. You can't please no woman. And it made him gun-shy. No, it was a journey - a slow, clumsy, staggering journey - that they took after that day.

Daryl hadn't said the L word back. He didn't think he ever had. Not to anyone since his Mom. And Carol didn't push it. But every now and then she'd toss it into their conversations, letting him get used to it, like trying to get a kid to eat a new vegetable. And in time he started to feel it round his shoulders like his poncho, warming him, making him feel protected and safe.

At night he'd sleep on the top bunk, she'd sleep on the bottom. Sometimes they'd talk, sometimes they wouldn't. Sometimes he'd just lie and revel in knowing she was there, so close he could smell her.

But they didn't touch, didn't wander into that territory that they both knew they were tiptoeing around.

That began the day Hershell died.


	2. Chapter 2

Right Down the Line (part2/?)

His name was Bob.

Everyone seemed to like him except Daryl. He'd showed up with the group from the hospital. They'd been there the whole time since the outbreak, living in a basement, dwindling in numbers over the years - just like every other group scattered across the state.

They finally gave up and sought a new home when something exploded and dropped half the hospital on the only water supply they had. Eight of them showed up at the prison gate. Every so often they'd get one or two new people who stumbled across the safe haven that the prison had become. They'd see the animals, and the crops, and they'd know this was a place to start again and to not be alone.

But they'd never had a group as big as this, not since Woodbury. There was Oliver, the surgeon; Ruby, the white haired retired midwife; Alexi, the porter; a handful of others Daryl never got to know… and then there was Bob.

He spoke too much; smiled too much. He reminded Daryl of guys he and Merle had known back in the day. The kind of guy who fits right in with society, shakes hands with the business man whilst selling his little girl for sex. Not that Daryl had any proof of that, it was just a feeling.

Everyone had brushed him off when he tried to say something. He's just being territorial, just being Daryl. But she had listened, understood. She trusted his instinct.

"If you think something isn't right, tell Hershell. He'll listen," she'd said with a resolute frown.

And Hershell did listen, but as he said there was nothing he could do when the man hadn't put a foot wrong. But he took Daryl seriously and that meant a lot.

In the end though, it wasn't enough to save him.

They should never have put a gun in his hand. Never let the man they didn't know from Adam, take his turn on watch.

He'd shot 5 people before Tyresse tackled him to the ground and Daryl had wrestled the gun from his hand. Daryl had put him down, quick and quiet. Only Tyresse knew about it. It was their pact, their secret. A shared nod was all it took. They didn't have time for justice and rights. This man was a walker like any other, just one that hadn't died yet.

In the panic that ensued no one was sure who'd been hit and who hadn't. The screamers got the attention first. And no one realised that Hershell had been hit. He was silent, still sitting upright at one of the picnic tables in the yard, his body leaning to the right on his crutch.

Only when Beth started wailing did they realise. He'd died instantly, a clean bullet through the heart; the blood pouring out of him under the table and out of view.

They all took it hard. Hershell wasn't meant to go like that. The man had survived wave after wave of walker shit. He'd lost his leg but not his spirit. He was minister and doctor, father and judge, friend and teacher.

Maggie and Beth went to pieces and clutched each other. Rick had to physically hold Glenn upright.

"Dad! Dad!" he'd wailed, though he had never called him that in life.

Tyresse, Daryl, Rick and a new fellow Joel took care of it. Oliver had taught them how to sever the cerebral cortex without blowing the head clean off. They could stop him coming back without destroying who he was. For the first time, they would have a proper funeral.

But still, Beth and Maggie didn't need to see it. So between them they had carried his body into a make-shift morgue. That was where they found Carol, helping Oliver set up the room.

After they made sure he wouldn't return, they didn't really know what to do.

"I'll clean him up," Carol had offered. "We'll make him look nice and then Beth and Maggie can say goodbye properly."

She was already rolling up her sleeves as Oliver left to attend to the other wounded. Tyresse and Joel followed swiftly after. They clearly knew it was something that the family needed to do together.

But Daryl wouldn't leave, no way. He wasn't going to leave her there. What if it hadn't been done right and he turned? What if… who knew? But he just wasn't going to do it.

In the end, he and Rick took turns standing guard as Carol stripped Hershell, sewed up the wound and dressed him again. She brushed out his white hair and beard until he looked peaceful and content ,like images of God Daryl had always seen as a kid.

When Daryl had started nodding off with his head on his bow, Rick had sent him to bed. He'd argued but a touch from Carol's hand on his chest and her insistence he go sent him shuffling off to their cell.

He hadn't known how much later it was when Carol came to bed. The familiar soft jingle of her undoing her belt in the darkness had woken him up. He'd fallen asleep, flat on his back, fully clothed on top of the blankets. He contemplated moving but somehow, for some reason he was afraid to let her know he was awake. So he'd laid and listened.

He'd heard all the sounds of her daily winding down that he took as a comforting lullaby every night. The scrape of the metal chair as she sat to untie her boots, the soft flump of her pants hitting the ground, the squeak of the old drawer as she put away her clothes. But tonight one part never came.

The familiar grind and clang of her putting her weight on the old springs of the bottom bunk and the slight shudder as she scooted around getting comfortable was missing.

He'd wanted to sit upright, was she crying? Had she gone out the room again? He couldn't see in the darkness. And that was when he'd heard it. The clang of metal against metal, the shift of his bunk and then there it was, her head poking above the end of the bed.

She'd never said a word. She simply pulled herself up and crawled up the bed. He tried not to look at her bare legs as she lay on her side with her back towards him. He'd flattened himself back against the wall as much as he could, his body as stiff as a board, afraid of what was happening, afraid of what she wanted. But she hadn't wanted anything, nothing more than what it was they both needed that horrible day.

She'd reached behind her and found his wrist. He'd made a small sound. He was going to speak but didn't know what to say so in the end he only made a noise; a short questioning but agreeing noise all in one breath, as she pulled his arm and rested it over her side. His hand came to lie on the soft cotton tank top covering her stomach and the feel was both exhilarating and soothing.

Within seconds she was asleep. It took Daryl a lot longer to relax. He held his body tense; scared of every part of it that was touching hers. But exhaustion eventually over took him as he listened to her deep breaths elongate.

The next morning when he'd woken he was grateful for the thick denim he'd fallen asleep wearing. She had rolled partially onto her front, and he'd rolled with her. He was practically lying on top of her; his crotch pressing against the thin fabric covered her ass. And his body knew it too.

He'd blushed as soon as he'd become aware of it, but he was afraid to pull away in case that woke her. Maybe if he lay there, still, pretending he was on his belly hunting squirrel in the woods, with Merle whining in his ear – maybe then it would subside and she'd never notice.

Of course, Carol being Carol, that was the moment she'd woken. She'd curled and stretched as he'd rolled back hurriedly. She turned herself over in place and faced him.

He remembered the look on her face. He always would. In the grey blue light of morning, he'd never found her more beautiful. Age and care were written in the soft crinkles around her eyes, while her lips were as plump and ripe as a teenage girl's.

This was it, he'd thought. This was the moment he couldn't deny it, couldn't fight it any more. But as ever, he was wrong. There was one person wearing the pants in this relationship, and it wasn't the one hiding an erection behind denim.

She'd looked at him intently, squeezed his arm gently and before he could even think, had hopped off the bed and was picking up her clothes for the day.

So often she left him like that, like a gentle whirlwind that spun him round, lifted him off his feet and then laid him to rest exactly in the spot he'd been.

She told him later that she didn't want to push him. She said his face had looked like a deer caught in the headlights when she'd rolled over. And yes, she'd known about his morning wood. But she'd said nothing.

And neither did he.

All was as it was before, until Hershell's funeral. The whole community had joined together. Daryl'd never seen everyone gathered together that way, but everyone had loved the man.

Daryl had hung back. He let Carol comfort Beth, as Glenn and Maggie propped each other up. But he'd watched her, as he always did. And he realised that the whole time she was comforting other people, helping other people, no one was helping her.

That night, he was in the cell before she was again. He'd paced back and forth going over and over whether this was a good idea, and every time he'd heard footsteps on the walkway he'd leapt about 6 foot in the air.

Finally he said "Screw it" out loud. He pulled off his boots and shirt, removed his weapons and climbed into bed.

Her bed.

He didn't fall asleep. He couldn't, for the sound of his own heart beating out of his chest.

Finally she'd come in. He'd known she was weary from her walk and it was written all over her face in the half light. She stood in the room, slumped and exhausted, looking at him lying in her bed, questioning but not speaking.

He'd done the only thing he could think of doing, and he pulled the covers back, inviting her in.

Immediately she kicked off her boots, pulled off her pants and lay down next to him.

This time she faced him, her head low. And the sobs had begun. He'd wrapped his arms around her then, and held her tight against his chest as she gripped his arms and shook. His own tears landed on her soft grey hair.

They'd fallen asleep like that. It hadn't gone the way he planned, but he knew now wasn't the time.

Yet every night after that, they shared the same bed, back to front, face to face, always touching, always holding, but that was all. His lips never strayed to hers, her hands never touched his face.

He began to think he'd misunderstood all this time. That she loved him like a brother, like a friend, like a son even. The sexual teasing he remembered from her was a long distant memory. He couldn't remember when she'd stopped; he just knew he missed it.

But again, as ever, he was wrong. So very, very wrong. And it wasn't a very long time until it became clear.


	3. Chapter 3

Right Down the Line (part 3/?)

He wasn't the kind to kiss and tell. His business was his business. He'd never been a bragger like Merle, sharing details of his consequences -real and imaginary - with all and sundry. He kept it all to himself, and he never felt the need to go telling anyone anything... Except for that one time he told Glenn.

It had been one of those days when everything was going well, and people seemed to be acting decent and not screwing up. The prison seemed light and calm; you could almost pretend the hell outside didn't exist. People even laughed. But it seemed no one had told Grace Greene Rhee this.

The chubby 11 month old was driving everyone in the cell block nuts with her teething squalls. The poor kid had her mother's stubbornness and her father's energy. She could scream bloody murder all night and only end up with a red face and a wet diaper while everyone else went crazy through lack of sleep.

So Carol had offered to look after her for the night and let Maggie and Glenn get a night of uninterrupted sleep. It was the selfless kind of thing Carol did, time and again, that made him so proud. But, shit, he wasn't stupid and he'd elected not to return to their cell that night.

He'd hid out in his make-shift garage, tuning up the bike. It was getting old and had started being unreliable, like it's former owner. He even wondered if Merle was haunting him in motorbike form.

It had been around midnight when Michonne had joined him. She'd found some moonshine on a run and was looking for someone to share it with. Although her and Rick were a solid couple now, and Carl enjoyed having a warrior step-mom, Judith wasn't so easy to convince. She was possessive of her daddy's affection and Michonne got pushed out. But she was chilled and knew the girl came first. Daryl had just assumed she was given them space when she settled down on the worktop opposite him.

The moonshine had aged well, in that at least in didn't taste like something you cleaned drains with, and it lubricated the body nicely after a few gulps. He couldn't remember why Glenn had come in, if he was meant to be going someplace and got side-tracked or if he too was just escaping domesticity. Whatever, half an hour later he was sitting on the floor, cross legged giggling like a school boy.

No matter how old the boy got, he couldn't hold his drink and some of Daryl's funniest memories were of his favourite pizza boy, drunk and stupid.

In this instance, somehow Glenn had decided to tell them about the first time he and Maggie had done it. Daryl had heard it before but he still enjoyed the telling.

"So I'm standing with a box of condoms in my hand, and she says, 'I'll have sex with you,' and then she takes her bra off! I swear if I knew that was how I could get girls to throw themselves to me, I'd have started the end of the world sooner!"

They'd all laughed at Glenn's lack of guile and passed the bottle round again. Michonne was just lowering the bottle from her lips, when Glenn said: "So, c'mon Michonne, where did you and Rick first do it? ".

Michonne gave one of her shit-eating grins. It often seems to him she only had 2 expressions, frowning like a 4 year old or grinning like a cat. Truth be told it was one of the things he liked about her, there was no grey area. You know where you stood with her.

"Watchtower.. . " She'd eventually admitted, "Daryl was coming up the stairs so we had to uh, finish early."

For some reason this particularly amused Glenn, and he fell over onto his side laughing, while Daryl had just wracked his brain trying to remember when it might have been. He hadn't noticed when Glenn turned his attention on him.

"So, c'mon Daryl, make it a full-house, when did you and Carol first do it?"

"Psssht," he'd dismissed, "I don't gotta do nothing."

"Aww c'mon, we've shared. Settle a long bet. It was back on Hershel's farm wasn't it? Was it in Dale's RV? Dale once bet me 10 strips of jerky it wasn't."

Daryl had been stunned that they'd bet on him. Frankly, he was stunned the cared where he was putting his dick. Still, bravery had overcome him with the liquor and he thought a little sharing might not hurt.

"It was in the kitchen..."

Glenn had grinned at that, thinking he was right.

"Here. The day Maggie dropped that screamin' daughter of yours into the world."

Glenn had sprayed moonshine all over the pair of them as he did a double-take.

"You're kidding me?! I thought you'd been at it for years. How come? What? I don't understand."

Daryl smiled at the memory of Glenn's face. He'd looked like he'd just been told Santa wasn't real. And it had pleased him to know he'd been able to surprise some who thought they knew him well.

When he hadn't answered Glenn's plea for explanation, the boy had pressed on.

"So what were you doing all that time then?"

"That's for me to know, Chuckles," he'd replied, before taking another gulp and making sure they knew they'd got everything out of them they were going to get.

Truth be told, he was kind of embarrassed by the real story. He knew some of them thought he was some James Dean, all roaring motorbike and raging libido. He didn't want them to know the truth of it.

She'd known; she knew it better than anyone, and for some reason she didn't care. She could read him as easily as breathe, and it made him all the more content.

It had been weeks, maybe months, since Hershell's death and every night they'd seek solace within that squashed bottom bunk. Just by the innocent touch of their arms around each other's body, they'd make the world vanish and Daryl slept better than he ever had. Yet neither of them spoke of it. It wasn't some Dr Phil shit where they had to hash over what it meant, or where it was going, it just was.

But inevitably, like the rest of this new life they'd had forced on them, things shifted and transformed.

It was, in the first instant, just a mistake; a badly timed move in bed one night where she'd scooched up just as he'd turned over. Her face had connected with his and in his move to verbalise an apology all at once, their lips had brushed together.

It wasn't actually a kiss, but they'd both frozen. He was suddenly wide awake. He'd felt her breathing, and could see her eyes wide in the darkness. And then, in a moment she'd tucked her head under his chin and went back to sleep. He was sure she could feel his heart, never mind hear it.

Whatever had actually happened, it had torn down the invisible curtains they'd had around the edges of their relationship. Darly had eventually drifted off to sleep, but it couldn't have been hours later when she moved again and he was suddenly as alert as a deer listening for danger. Her face was inches from his. He'd gathered up his resolve and brushed his lips against her cheek. She'd leapt slightly, more deeply asleep than he'd been. But it didn't stop her turning her head as she replaced her cheek with her lips, under his. Within seconds their invisible line in the sand was washed away.

It had all become about breath and heat and saliva as their mouths had done more speaking than their words had in all those years. He was stunned by how right it felt; how much he felt he'd been doing this all his life and simply had never noticed. It was as natural as breathing and as sure as loving her - though that was still a word he held trapped in his heart. He wasn't ready for that, and still she sensed it.

She must have known he was as terrified as he was comforted. This was right, this was good, but what came next? Sex had always been a land he didn't like living in. He found it desolate, strange and utterly foreign.

A long time before walkers made the choice much simpler he'd given up on sex being a happy part of his life. From his first time to his last, it had been a bed of shame, falters and disappointments. After one too many misread situations and bewildering rejections, he'd resigned himself to the occasional professional. He wasn't proud of it, but it kept Merle off his back and satisfied the urge whenever it crept up - without the whole package of signals and games that usually went with it.

Now the world had opened up again, it was in his bed millimetres from his face, hot tongue in his mouth, slender hands gripping the waist band of his jeans.

He was so scared by how much he'd wanted to get lost there with her, but his demons clung to his hands and stopped them moving to her breasts, or further.

So they'd made out. The night had become a haze of kissing and sleeping and kissing some more. By morning, she'd smiled in to his mouth with a final kiss before removing herself.

He'd feared he was letting her down by not going further, but she only looked smug and content as she looked in the old bathroom mirror hung in the cell.

He'd lain there watching her smoothing down the clumps of her whispy hair that had gone array from having his hot hands pushed through it all night. And then she had noticed her face and started giggling. She had some God-awful stubble-rash going on. He'd rolled flat on his back and shrugged to the air as she snorted at him.

When he'd stood up she met him in their cell and put her hand on his arm, her face suddenly serious. He'd thought this was it; this was when she questioned and rejected. But all she'd done was given him a look that he could read easily. It was pleading and calm. It said "Now, don't you run, don't you leave, don't you hide." He'd swallowed hard and met her gaze. It was all he could offer her at that moment.

He hadn't known at that point the long road they still had to take together. He hadn't known that Maggie's announcement that she was pregnant, a week after Hershell's death would be the catalyst for driving it forward.


	4. Chapter 4

Right Down the Line (part 4/?)

Maggie's pregnancy was a lifeline for them all. It was something they needed after Hershell's passing to guide them to the future. Even Daryl could feel it. And he was pleased it was happening to Maggie. She'd strutted round the yard like a mare in full bloom, all glossy chestnut hair and defiant tosses of her head. With a rifle flung over her shoulder, she practically dared anyone to suggest she should step back to less dangerous positions; be more... homely.

Poor Glenn, the boy had been a wreck, vacillating between pride and out right terror. More than once he'd said to Daryl "I'm having a baby. I got Maggie pregnant," awe clear in his voice.

"I know, man," was all Daryl could answer, giving him a supportive slap on the back.

In amongst the excitement and optimism, a memory hung in the air. Those who had been in the original prison group - Daryl, Carol, Rick, Carl, Beth - would all exchange looks every time the topic of the birth came up, because they all remembered. They remembered Lori.

Judith had been the last baby born in the prison and her cries still echoed round the halls.

They'd been preparing for Maggie's delivery for months. It wouldn't be like Lori. They had a surgeon and a mid-wife, and a midwife-in-training even. As soon as Maggie had confirmed her pregnancy, Beth had decided she wanted Ruby to train her up. With her daddy gone they'd feared she'd slip back to how she was at the farm, retreating into her head – or worse, a bathroom with a knife. But she was stronger now and having a role in life, gave her a reason to live. The girl had a way with babies, any fool could see that. It might have also had something to do with Oliver's strapping young boy that Beth had clearly set her cap on. It didn't matter the reason, the truth of it was they would be prepared for it this time. But of course, no one is ever really prepared.

Carol spoke about it often, out of earshot of Maggie. She told Daryl about the walker she'd had Glenn find for her to practice on; she talked about her friendship with Lori and Lori's fears. Most of all she told him how she felt she'd failed Lori by not being there. No matter what Daryl said to her, it didn't shake the guilt from her shoulders. Never mind that she had been fighting for her life, trapped in a cell for days, she still thought somehow she should have been with her. If only she'd turned left not right; if only she'd been nearer her; if only; if only.

Daryl didn't have the answers, and he felt he failed in comforting her. Lori had died after all, Maggie had cut her open, Carl had put her down - nothing he said could change those facts.

It was strange that even though they slept in the same bed every night, spent hours with their mouths sharing one breath, sometimes he'd felt that he wasn't as close to her as he could be. But he knew - if it was true - it was entirely his own fault.

She'd changed him so much, given him so much, and still he held back. Sometimes he'd see her with Rick, their interactions so easy. Rick would hug her, confide in her, and seek her council without a second thought. And there he was, the man who was meant to give her all that and he couldn't. He couldn't hold her hand; couldn't hug her; couldn't kiss her in front of others. He dreaded her thinking he was ashamed of her. He wasn't. He was ashamed of himself, afraid one day she'd realise any of these other men - Tyresse, Oliver, Joel, Alexi - were all better choices than him. So he held on to a part of his heart.

He frowned at the memory of the day it happened; how it unfolded. Even though he knew how it turned out, how many times he'd feel her lips on his after that, still it frightened him to think that once again he could have pushed her away.

It had started with one of those god-awful meetings; those waste of time, air sucking jokes where everyone is heard and no-one listens.

Joel had this idea about moving the fence boundaries to include the stream and some more of the land on the outskirts. Things had got ugly over whether or not they could spare the man power. Eventually, nothing was agreed and they'd called it a day.

Daryl had watched Carol wander over to Maggie as they all broke out onto the yard. He watched her smile and chat, her hand resting on Maggie's belly rubbing it in gentle circles. He wasn't aware of Alexi by his side until he spoke.

"No lovelier sight than a lady in full sail, don't you think" he'd said nodding towards the women.

Daryl'd just shrugged.

"You two not having kids? Guess some people are just not cut out to have children," he'd prattled on.

Daryl's heckles had risen at that. He started to feel the heat of anger spread across his shoulders. It wasn't the guy's fault he didn't know about Sophia. And it certainly wasn't his fault that he didn't know that all they did was make-out and dry hump like a couple of teenagers in a station wagon. He wasn't to know that Daryl came in his pants more times than a man in his forties should even be thinking about, leaving Carol no doubt as unsatisfied as she must have been with that Neanderthal Ed.

None of that was the man's fault, but all of it had run through Daryl's mind. He felt as if Alexi had read his mind and knew every guilty secret he was holding. And then the man spoke again.

"I love a big family. I would have had that fine lady pushing them out like puppies if it was me."

Daryl didn't think. He just grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and punched him across his jaw. The man instinctively lashed out and instantly there were fists flying. They grappled and connected for a good 30 seconds before Daryl felt the hands pulling them apart and heard the voices telling him to calm down.

He'd pulled his arm away from the grasp of whoever was holding him. Only then did he see it was Carol. Tyresse was holding Alexi and Rick was in between of them, arms outstretched, holding them apart.

"Woah, woah, Brother, what's going on?" He'd tried to make eye contact with Daryl, but he refused to meet his gaze.

"I'll sort him out, Rick," he'd heard Carol's voice behind him, and her hand on the small of his back, leading him away.

"What on earth was that about? What happened?" she'd queried as he stomped off ahead of her, back inside.

"I didn't like his mouth, so I punched it."

Carol had given an amused snort at that, as she guided him into one of the rooms they used for cleaning up. Karen and the 2 kids who were in there quickly hurried out at the sight of him, as he realised blood was trickling down from his nose.

Carol sat him down on a bench and set to, gathering a bowl of water, some cloth and antiseptic.

"So, what did he say that caused this, huh?" she said softly as she dabbed at his face.

He winced at the pain, and at the thought of explaining it to her.

"He was bein' a wise ass," was all he'd said.

"Uhhuh, and? There's plenty of wise asses around here, I don' t see you trying to break their jaws. C'mon, be straight with me?"

At that moment, he hated that she knew him so well. He wanted to go back to the days when he didn't have to answer to anyone or feel he was letting anyone down.

Begrudgingly he'd told her.

"He was makin' smart comments about you, how I should have knocked you up before now."

Carol had frozen at that, and she'd looked at him with a frown.

"Is that what this is about? You don't think you're a man 'cos you've not got me pregnant?"

The anger in Daryl had flared again.

"I don't think I'm a man 'cos I can't even bring myself to fuck you."

He'd jumped to his feet and grabbed the rag from her hand.

"Fuck me?" she'd said with disgust. "That's what you think I want from you? I just want some stud to bone me good? I want you. I want to make love to you -whatever form that takes. Don't you know that by now?"

He didn't believe her, how could he? He was a failure, he always would be. He couldn't give her what she needed, he'd been fooling himself he could; fooling himself that by not talking about what was and wasn't happening it wasn't real.

"I know you need a man who can give you what you need. That's not me. Never has been." He'd walked away from her, stopping at the door. "But, hey, Alexi Cockov over there seems keen to offer you it. Maybe move him into your cell."

He'd walked away, in every sense of the word.

He wanted it to make him feel better, but he'd just felt worse. Looking back he felt bad for Tyresse who was on watch with him much of that day. Rick tried to talk to him several times, but his hand on his arm, his comforting way of talking just reminded him of her.

His thought process was utterly screwed up. Deep down inside he knew he was scared, knew how close he was to finally jumping into that relationship with both feet, and he knew that terrified him. To want something so badly for so long, be so close. He was pushing it away for fear he'd drop it and it would smash into a million pieces – like everything he touched always did.

Of course, it was only in hindsight he knew all that. At the time all he felt was cold anger. He'd slept in the garage that night, and in the morning when Glenn had been looking for someone to make a run with him, he'd jumped at it.

Maggie's due date was getting close and Glenn wanted to get some more baby things, just in case. Thankfully the boy didn't pursue any questioning besides telling him his nose looked sore and asking if he was okay. It took longer than they expected. The more time passed, the harder it was to find store's with supplies. None of them liked looting houses, but sometimes it was a necessity.

And the silent, stalking, methodical searched suited his mood. If he'd known what was happening back at the prison, he would have run all the way there.

* * *

Author's notes: Just to let you all know I am down with a stinking cold right now, so if I'm typing utter nonsense, it's the drugs, let me know. Also, it may slow me down a little but I DO intend to get this finished this week. Likely another 3 or 4 chapters. Thanks for reading and reviewing you gorgeous lot!


	5. Chapter 5

Right Down the Line (part 5/?)

It wasn't that there were pools of blood, or gun-fire, or even a hive of activity. From a distance the prison looked as it always did. A few people scattered here and there going about their business. No, it wasn't until they approached the gates that they knew something was wrong. Carl and Sasha were on watch. They started hollering and get frantic before Sasha ran off, as soon as his bike came into sight.

As Carl ushered them in he spoke straight to Glenn.

"Maggie's in labour, you gotta go!"

"Now?!" he exclaimed in panic, as he'd struggled out of his back pack. "It's too early! Why now?"

"Walkers," had been Carl's terrifying reply. They'd all stood frozen at that, imagining what it meant.

They'd got through a weak spot near the generator room. Four of them had just sauntered in and surprised a group who were moving supplies around. Daryl's veins had turned to ice when Carl had added Carol's name to the list of the group involved – Carol and Maggie.

"Maggie never got bit, neither did Carol. They put the walkers down, but Ged, Lois and the Carter boy all got it… bad."

He must has seen the terror on Daryl's face, the thought that he'd lost her now, after how he'd treated her.

When Glenn took off running to find his wife, Daryl followed. Carl had explained that they thought the stress had set off her labour, but it was all okay going smoothly so far. But Beth was doing the delivery alone. The Doc and Ruby were too busy trying to cut out the bites, like they'd learned could maybe save them, like it had Hershell.

They found the room quick enough and Glenn had pushed the door open to chaos. Maggie was leaning over a bed, sweating and screaming, as Carol gripped her hands across the sheets. She was doing panting breaths with Maggie, trying to help her get through it. Beth was hunkered on the floor, telling her sister to push hard on the next contraction. She could feel the head.

Glenn had rushed over to Maggie's side. Daryl still chuckled at the tirade the farmer's daughter had launched at her husband for not being there. Some pretty fine cussing went on.

Daryl had stood for a moment taking it all in, taking her in - the sweat running down her face, the calm eyes and soothing words, and the blood that covered her forearms and shirt.

He didn't know if she was aware he was there, she never looked up. He slipped back out of the room leaving them to it, and slunk into the small kitchen set-up next door. He should have been happy, should have been relieved. Carol was there safe. There was nothing to worry about. But he could only feel unease.

After Sophia, after Dale and T-Dog and Lori and Andrea and Merle and Hershell and everyone else who had started the day with hope and strength and had simply vanished before sundown – how could he have done that? If she'd died thinking he hated her, thinking he didn't ache for her with every fibre of his being every second of every day, how could he live with himself?

You'd think in all these years, they'd all learned the lessons the hard way, him included. Every day someone reminded someone else - we don't know how long we've got, every day might be the last. He'd said it himself, agreed with others, but he was paying lip service . Letting his stupid pride and fear from acting on the truth of it.

No more. No. More.

He'd lay it all out, tell her everything he fought to keep hidden, and what happened next was up to her. He wouldn't blame her if she was done with his shit. He'd get over it as long as she lived, as long as she was happy, as long as she knew how long and hard he had loved her.

He remembered the wait in the room, he didn't know how long it had gone on for – minutes or hours, he couldn't recall. He just remembered he'd worn a track from one side of the room to the other before he heard the unmistakable cries of a baby. He sagged against the units, waiting for someone to come out the room.

It was Carol. She walked in to where he waited, her face red and tear stained. She was wiping her arms with a towel and looking shell-shocked.

"It's a girl. Healthy. Maggie's doing great. She DID great, so did Beth."

Daryl had nodded, not sure when it was appropriate to change the subject back to them.

Carol had stood looking at him, probably wondering what way he was going to jump.

"Poor girl, bet she's got a head like a melon," he'd offering, indicating he was here for peace talks.

When Carol smiled he felt he'd won a victory.

"She is… healthy sized for a premmie… " she'd offered in return, grinning. They were meeting on common ground.

He put his bow down and walked towards her. She'd turned slightly, maybe wondering if he was about to push past her and out the door. Instead he'd stretched out his hand and pushed the door shut behind her. She'd tilted her head at him, questioning in that way she always did when she was afraid to prod him with words.

"Carol…" he was going to stand in front of her, open and honest, entirely for the first time. "I'm sorry about… ya know… I just felt… I don't know why you'd put up with it, with me?"

Carol's face had softened then as she'd met his eyes.

"I've told you…I'm happy. You make me happy. Whatever you give is enough, because I know it's all you can give. I knew it the day you brought me a Cherokee rose."

She'd cupped her hand against his stubble, stroking his face, unknowingly stoking a fire.

"But it's not… I should have said…I should have done…" More, he thought, so much more.

"Shhhhh," she put her finger to his lips. "All you should do is let me love you, the rest'll come when you're good and ready."

Right then, he knew he was ready. He'd been ready for some time.

He leaned in and captured her mouth firmer and more assured than he had before. He could sense her eyebrows shoot up, even with his eyes-closed.

In a breath they were pressed together, hands in hair and on face and holding so, so kissing lost the leisurely air it usually had. It was gathering pace.

The momentum carried him along and he dropped his hands to her waist, pushing her blood stained shirt up her body. She pulled back then and looked at him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

In answer he let go her shirt and began undoing the belt that was holding her loose pants in place. She took his head in her hands then and looked at him with more passion than he could bear. They stumbled backwards until she was resting against the unit Daryl had previously leaned against.

In a matter of moments, her bare legs were wrapped around his body as he revelled at the feel of his body on - and in- hers. They were fast, furious, silent but for their gasping. Carol had bit her lip as he began to lose all sense of what was going on around him. But her eyes never left his. He remembered that, he always would.

They'd uncoupled hurriedly, righting their clothes just in time as Beth came in to fetch some coffee for the exhausted parents.

"Everything okay?" Carol had asked Beth, her face a picture of innocence. He couldn't recall Beth's reply, he was too busy looking at the sweat trickling down the nape of Carol's neck and disappearing under her blouse.

He should have been sated, but it was like a dam had burst. All the passion and desire he'd felt for her for years had burst free and was running rampant through his body.

He didn't think he'd ever be able to keep his hands off her again. Even then, with Beth right there, he'd squeezed her ass and brushed his body deliberately against her as he walked out the room. He wasn't safe to stay there.

So he'd gone back to their cell, climbed into the bottom bunk and waited for her like he had so many times now. But this time there was no denim barrier.

She'd followed only a few minutes later, grinning like the Cheshire cat when she saw him there waiting.

"Oh that's how it is now, huh?" she teased as she too stripped naked and joined him under the rough blanket.

"I gotta lot of time to make up for," he'd told her, and he meant it.

That night he'd done everything he could to show her what he'd felt – had always felt – but was too afraid to show. He loved her with his mouth and body for hours and eventually in a haze of sweat and exhaustion and whispered devotions, he'd said it.

"I love you, Carol."

She'd whispered it back and then it was like he couldn't stop saying it, each kiss was paired with a declaration, each touch with a promise. Until eventually, she'd giggled.

"Enough! Sleep now."

He had grasped her in his arms and fallen asleep, but when he woke in the light of morning he couldn't resist and they'd revelled in the joy of making love by daylight.

That morning, their hands clasped together, he thought he couldn't possibly be happier.

Of course he was wrong, he was always wrong. Hadn't he established that already?


	6. Chapter 6

Right Down the Line (part 6/?)

Things had begun to have a stink of normality about them. Walkers were starting to decay to the point they were little more than stumbling bones. The prison had become a well-oiled machine of a micro society. Well, not that micro. They had to reclaim and clear out more and more of the buildings, as every week someone new would stumble to the gates offering to earn their keep if they'd just take them in. And they always did.

It was one of the new comers who must have brought it in. In the old world it would have been a plain and simple flu. A week in bed, plenty of fresh OJ and Tylenol and you'd get over it. But here it was practically a plague. Sanitation was still poor, cells were separated by little more than curtains, and medication was running low. Every cough made mothers pick up their children and run.

Because it was the kids who got it worst. The adults still seemed to have some resistance to the viral infection, but the kids were dropping like flies. They'd lost 2 already. The prison took on a mournful, terrified air. People stopped speaking; communing. It was every man for himself, just like when the walkers had first hit.

Oliver was run off his feet doing what he could. Ruby had passed from a heart attack in the spring, so Beth was acting as nurse and Carol - of course - stepped up to fill the gaps.

They all panicked when 4-year-old Judith came down with it, and their hearts were all in their mouths when ox-strong Carl collapsed on watch one day, the fever raging through his body.

It wasn't THE fever but it may as well have been for the fear it struck in them all. When 2-year-old Grace got sick, it seemed like the final straw. Everyone was grim and silent.

Carol would stumble in the double-bed Daryl had fashioned for them from the 2 bunks, at all times of day or night, exhausting after cleaning up puke, mopping brows or disinfecting cells. Often she'd just be sitting with some terrified parent while they waited for the fever to break. She knew about waiting and wondering about your child, she knew the pain of losing them. Her darkest moment was now the tool she used to bring comfort and help to other parents.

It was after she'd been up half the night with Maggie, sitting by Grace's bed sponging her down with cool water that she first started to display symptoms. She'd staggered when she stood up from the bed. Brushing Daryl's concern away, she'd insisted it was just lack of sleep.

The next day she threw up while she was on watch. Oliver sent her to bed immediately, and Joel had fetched Daryl. Seeing her hang over the bed puking into a trashcan had made his own stomach turn in fear. He could see the worry on Oliver's face.

"Look, she's strong, healthy, she's not in the risk group," he'd whispered to Daryl as he'd washed his hands. "But all the same, I want her to be supervised. I want to know the second she spikes a fever."

Oliver needn't have said it, there was no way he was going to leave her side whatever.

Joel had reassured them he'd make sure both their chores were covered for as long as needed, as he and Oliver left.

Daryl had kicked off his boots and climbed into bed with her, repositioning the cool washcloth over her forehead.

"Don't!" she'd exclaimed weakly. "Keep away, you'll catch it!"

"Pfft," he'd reassured, not budging an inch. "I was licking frogs with Merle by time I was 4. No germs I ain't seen off twice by now."

She'd smiled and relaxed back into him. Within minutes she was sound asleep, and she slept and slept - for 14 hours. Daryl laid watching her for any signs of a fever or worsening, but it never came and eventually he'd dozed off himself.

When he woke she was standing over him.

"Mornin' sleepy," she smiled.

She felt better she'd reassured, probably something she ate or just over-tired. He tried to tell her to take it easy, but she was having none of it. If she was sick, she'd see it off. She wanted to check on the kids, and as she saw it, if she did have the flu she was the best person to look after them, because there was no worry of her catching it now.

So she'd gone and relieved Michonne from looking after Judith. Later she'd told Daryl that she'd found Little Miss Grimes curled up asleep in Michonne's lap - the same Michonne that she claimed she hated. Carol had taken that as a sign that she'd recovering, and she was right. Judith and Grace's fever had broken that day, only Carl remained but Oliver had said he was fighting it. He thought the worst was over for everyone.

Yet 48 hours later Carol had fainted. She was in the laundry with Maggie washing all the bed linen they'd gone through. Maggie had caught her in her strong arms and walked her back to their cell. It was Rick who'd found him this time. Daryl had never run so fast as he had that day.

He found her sitting on the edge of the bed, looking woozy while Maggie crouched feeling her forehead and pulse.

"No fever," she'd said as Daryl entered the room, "But her pulse is a bit fast. I sent Karen to get Oliver."

"I'm fine," Carol had pleaded, "honestly, it's just exhaustion. I'm tired is all."

Daryl watched Maggie scrutinise her. He never expected her to say what she did.

"Carol, do you think you could be pregnant?"

Daryl could only imagine his face mirrored Carol's total surprise. Although Carol burst out laughing, while he'd felt like he had never been so serious in his life.

"Maggie, I'm 48-years-old, it's hardly likely."

"Hmm," was all Maggie had said.

Daryl didn't know what was happening. Watching the two women look at each other he felt he was missing half the conversation. And Carol had sensed it, as she shot him a look over her shoulder that said "don't worry."

Maggie had continued to frown as Oliver arrived with Karen. He dumped his bag on the bed beside Carol, and Maggie wasted no time in telling him her thoughts. Oliver seemed to take it seriously when he sent Karen back to his room for a test.

Carol continued to protest the unlikelihood, saying it was more likely the onset of the menopause. Even Daryl had thought she was sounding desperate but he could understand that. It was a terrifying place to go, even as a passing thought. As it was his mind was running round in screaming circles. He had no idea whether to go with the thought or dismiss it, but he felt it sitting there just wanting him to rest on it. He'd tried not to, and instead focussed on Carol.

When Karen returned with the pregnancy test and Oliver had mentioned that women do have a peak of fertility before the menopause, Daryl thought Carol might faint again.

Oliver had ushered the small group out of the cell as Daryl and Carol sat on the bed side by side waiting for the pee stick to develop.

"I won't be...I won't," she'd reassured. "Don't panic."

"Who's panicking?" he'd replied. And he wasn't lying. In the few minutes that had passed, his mind had settled and he'd felt nothing but calm. He didn't want to latch on to the new and totally unexpected hope he felt teasing his heart, but he was happy to go with acceptance.

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. To have a child with her, to be a family, to give her back some of what she'd lost - what they'd lost - seemed only fair. Somebody had to come out with something good for this world gone to shit, why couldn't it be them?

She'd gripped his hand as she counted down until the moment it was time to turn the test over. And there it was.

Two blue lines.

They sat staring at it in disbelief.

Before they had a chance to react, Oliver had come back in the room to check the results. He'd started talking about diet and vitamins and rest, but never once did he ask if she wanted to keep it. Her face had told him. It had told them all.

Karen and Maggie had promised to keep it to themselves for now and after hugs and a couple of congratulatory slaps on his back, they were finally alone. He was dazed. He was so afraid to go with what he knew in his heart he left, so scared to feel that level of happiness that he'd never even believe existed.

She'd taken his hands and asked if he was okay. Okay wasn't the word. In a world he never saw coming, with a woman he never imagined loving, he was going to be the one thing he never dared dream he could be.

"I'm gonna be a dad," was all he'd managed to say, before she enveloped him in a hug.


	7. Chapter 7

The first few months were tough. Neither of them could really believe it was real, Carol especially was not confident about trusting the happiness they were feeling. She felt it wouldn't last, couldn't possibly last. She'd keep telling him not to get his hopes up. It had been hard enough to fall pregnant with Sophia, and that was in the best of circumstances. She'd known miscarriage before, so she knew the risks, and knew they had only increased with time and circumstance.

But every time she threw up in the trashcan in their cell; every time she felt woozy; it was a sign that the hormones were doing their job and hope bubbled under.

He'd taken his cue from her and tried not to get carried away, but it was hard. He'd never imagined this for his life, never even contemplated it, and to have it so close, but so unsure, was tantalising. Outside of their cell they didn't say much, but at night they'd lay together in their bed, whispered possibilities bouncing off the walls as his hand would rest on her belly - as if somehow he could will the life inside to keep living, keep growing, just with his very touch.

It seemed to work, because soon her normally flat stomach had been replaced by a soft curve that grew and grew. And his love for her had grown with it. He'd spent so much of his life burying and denying, he didn't quite know how to deal with a reciprocated love that he could express. She was a wonder to him, and never more so when she was physically showing their evidence of their love.

He remembered the couple of close calls of his youth, when a girlfriend would say those ominous words - "I'm late" - and he'd feel nothing but terror. It wasn't the prospect of a child so much as the idea of being tied to the woman forever. He always hated looking into the future and seeing the same woman in it. It scared him more than Merle leaning over him with his fist. He couldn't imagine wanting a woman to be around him for 10 days, never mind 10 years. But with Carol that had all changed. He desperately wanted to look forward and see her and them all together, but sense tried to keep him grounded.

And there was a nagging feeling that gnawed at his brain throughout that whole time. It was voices he'd silenced the moment he gave himself entirely to Carol, but they were back with the baby in her bell. They were quiet at first, but insistent.

It had started in his dreams. Babies leapt out his arms and ran away; boys that would shoot him with his own arrows; Carol angry and disappearing off into the horizon; and face after face turning into walkers in their cell, their bed and in his arms. How could he be a father with his own Pop and Merle were his role models? He'd made promises to himself even before he lost his mom that he wouldn't be like them. But were promises enough? He wasn't Rick, he didn't have patience and empathy and the ability to connect with every person he met.

What if he was never able to connect with the child, what if his temper got the better of him; what if it made Carol hate him? He was too scared to let her know, but he'd known he was getting more irritable; more distant from the idea of the baby - conflicting with his overwhelming love for her and that rounded belly of hers. His doubts were never about her. He was as sure about her, as he was sure he was breathing. There was no woman on earth he'd rather do this with, but what if even her love wasn't enough to fix him?

But as was ever the case, she knew him better than he knew himself and though he'd never verbalised his fears to her she had sensed them.

It became clear the day Carl sidled up to him while he was eating. Carl had looked about suspiciously, and with only Carol and Karen working away at the food, he'd sat down beside Daryl at the metal table.

"Can I speak to you about something?" he'd whispered in a harassed voice.

Daryl was on edge. He never liked whispering, it always meant secrets or lies that would eventually blow up in someone's face. He'd shrugged and let Carl carry on.

"How do you let a girl know you like her? I mean, you know, let her know you want to be more than friends? Like, what move do you make without seeming like a creep?" He'd rushed out in garbled haste.

Daryl had stopped chewing and was pretty sure he'd heard Carol suppress a snort.

"Why don't ya ask yer dad?" he'd replied

"That's just weird talking to him about this stuff, plus, like, you know lots more about girls than he does. You must have had tons of girlfriends, ya know, before. Merle spoke about it a couple of times."

Daryl definitely heard Carol laugh at that. Yeah, no doubt Merle would have delighted in regaling them with some of his glorious failures and more dubious choices.

He'd sighed, realising the eager young man wasn't going to be brushed off.

"Just don't be an idiot," he'd finally told an unimpressed Carl, who in return gesticulated his frustration.

"C'mon, Daryl, ya gotta give me more than that."

Daryl had searched his brain for something to tell the kid. It wasn't like he had a stock of advice passed down from Dixon generation to generation. He didn't even think he could remember his own father saying much that could be considered advice, unless you included "You'd better get outta my way or I'm gonna tan your hide" advice. He thought of Carol, of girls he'd known in his younger years and of the young women who shyly smiled their way around the prison halls.

"First off, stop thinking there's some magic word that'll make her pants drop off."

Carl had looked suitably uncomfortable at that and Daryl had known he was on the right track.

"Girls are people too. Give 'em the same respect you would yer pa, don't forget they got feelings too, never try and guess what they're thinking 'cos you'll always be wrong and don't forget some of them have a mean right hook and've got every right to use it if are being an ass."

Carl had squirmed obviously not happy with the answer, so Daryl had continued.

"And if you find one that makes you forget every bit of advice you ever got, just in the hopes she'll even breath in your direction, fer fuck's sake say something and don't let her get away."

Carl had grinned and cuffed him on the shoulder at that, as he sprung off on his long legs likely to set to work on putting the advice into practice.

When he went to bed that night Carol was already there with the sheet pulled up to her chin, a baby book lying discarded on his side of the bed. As he sat on the edge of the bed untying his boots, he'd glanced at the title - "How to Be a Better Parent". Inside he'd scoffed, there was no hope for him and he doubted Dr Spock could help. The next thing he'd known, he'd felt the bed shift and then her face was pressed against his shoulder.

"You'll make a great father, you shouldn't worry."

She could always read his mind.

"How can I when I only got Merle and my pop to learn from? I didn't know what to say to Carl, what do I do when our kid comes asking questions. I ain't got any answers." He had to be honest with her, always would be.

"You did just fine with Carl, and you'll do just fine with this little one. When you fall off a bike, it's the fall that teaches you how to ride it right. It teaches you what not to do, far more than any book can teach you what you should do. We learn from the negatives as well as the positives."

She'd wrapped her arms round him then, stroking the area above his heart. He'd said nothing, just put his hand over hers.

"I learned from Ed."

He'd stiffened at that name. She very rarely mentioned him and he was glad. Any time that plump, pallid, putrid face came to his mind Daryl had to clench his fists. Whenever he thought back to what Ed had done to her for all those years, and worse, for those days when Daryl was just feet away; Merle telling him it was none of their business what a man did to his wife. He fantasised about being back there, about pummelling that bastard's face to a pulp before Carol had to take a pick axe to it.

"He used so many pretty words with me, and I thought his words were proof, I thought it was all I needed. Every time he said he loved me, or he was doing everything for me and Sophia, he only wanted to keep us safe and protect us. I thought that was love. I thought words were love. I was wrong, so wrong. I knew it a long time ago but it didn't sink in until I met you. That's when I understood."

He remembered how he'd twisted round in the bed to look at her then, as she'd sat back on her knees. The sheet had fallen away from her body, pushed out of the way by the burgeoning bump. It was as if it was light by a spotlight; as if the baby wanted to take part in the conversation.

"Words aren't important," she'd continued. "Actions are what matters. I knew you loved me a long, long time before you said it. I knew it because everything you did was out of love. You didn't need to say it. And you don't need words to be a great father. You have the actions down pat."

She'd grinned at him then, but he still found it tough to take her compliments.

"You've been a father to Carl and Judith and Grace and all the kids around here, you just didn't know it. You looked out for them, taught them, made them laugh, set them straight and gave them confidence. No one could ask more from a father."

She'd begun rubbing the baby subconsciously as she spoke. And he thought his love for her would explode out of his very chest. Every time, every day, she knew just what to say, what to do to make everything okay again. He could never explain to her what she did for him, and if he tried she'd just smile and make a joke, so he'd taken her word and stuck to actions.

He leaned forward and kissed her, his hand resting on top of hers on their unborn child. She pulled him down onto the bed and they made love. He'd been very resistant about doing it when they first found out about the pregnancy. It all just seemed weird and intrusive and like he'd risk hurting the baby in some way. But Carol had eased his fears, and as her health improved and her libido grew with her body he found all his fears rushing away at the site of her blooming figure.

He'd be a good father because he was doing it with her, and everything with her was always good.

Carol had fallen asleep before him that night, and he'd lain next to her, watching her sleep and breathing with the rhythm of the rise and fall of her belly. Then he saw one side of her belly twitch. He'd immediately placed his hand there and felt it - the baby was kicking. He tried not to chuckle.

That was a Dixon all right. It should be asleep along with its mother, but no it was awake causing a ruckus. Carol stirred in her sleep.

"Shhhh, " Daryl had whispered putting his face to the bump. "You'll wake your momma. Go to sleep. It won't be long till you can scream and fuss all you like."

It was sooner than they'd like.


End file.
